Through a Clouded Camera Lens
by Shocotate
Summary: "The mediator between brain and hands has to be the heart" - a philosophy created by Thea von Harbou. Post-CoS. Fritz Lang fic.


This is my entry for prompt 126 on the fma_fic_contest on Live Journal, it placed third which I was delighted about since it's my first time placing ^_^ hope you guys like it.

You can find a mini-comic featuring one of the scenes on my deviantART-

http:/ .com/art/ Erinnerungen-im-Mondschein- 252495130

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Title: Through a Clouded Camera Lens

Author: colourblindzebra  
>Series: Anime1, post-CoS, 1925<br>Word Count: 2105  
>Rating: PG<p>

Characters: Fritz Lang, Alter-Lyra, Alter-Selim, others mentioned

Prompt:Heart  
>Summary: "The mediator between brain and hands has to be the heart" - a philosophy created by Thea von Harbou.<p>

Notes: I didn't really think about entering this week until inspiration struck and ToulonWanderer asked me to write it. Near the end of writing this I got more than confused about whether Officer Hughes worked in Berlin or Munich, because Ufa is in Berlin but people keep mentioning Munich as well, so I'm sorry if I made a mistake…um…if so Hughes got sent to Berlin to work there instead… ^^'

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They had found him in the store room, in one of the smaller warehouses at Ufa when the rumours of the still fully assembled dragon prop from _Die Nibelungen_ being haunted became a more than a whisper among the extras, and that _never_ took long, a week at best. Fritz hadn't the time to be dealing with such things, Thea was almost finished concocting another masterpiece, the one she called _Metropolis_, he should have been with her, ensuring her vision transferred to screen flawlessly, and yet here he was- wandering around the storage warehouse with nothing but a torch. It wasn't that he believed any of the ridiculous gossips between the actors whose names escaped him, and whose names would inevitably escape the credits once the film was complete– they weren't important, but his actors were his tools for making his wife's…_their_ creation a reality, and if they were so distracted as to believe such foolishness…well, he'd put an end to that.

The dragon was a marvelous creature, almost seventy feet long, impossibly heavy, with the bellows that allowed it to breathe and the water pump from which it bled, they had been removed over a year ago, leaving the insides all the more bare. How well it had functioned, its movement fluid and precise, with the ten people required to operate it from inside one wouldn't think they could work so well together, then again, almost all the technicians had been there to witness that boy- Edward Elric confront the _real _dragon, it was no wonder it had been improved so much. A wail that echoed throughout the warehouse tore Lang from his musings, and he was certain that it had come from _inside_. The howl died down to a quiet cry, and then to a barely audible sobbing. But with no means of reaching the tortured voice, he only thought it best to return in the morning with the technicians, and turned on his heels, making his way towards to door, leaving the owner of the voice to its own devices for the night.

He had cried, cried and kicked and shrieked as they pulled him from the newly made incision in the prop's neck, huddled himself in a ball on the floor, refusing to speak to anyone, but Lang would not allow such a disruption to his work to be forgotten without a word, and stayed put until the little one calmed down. After an hour or so he calmed enough to talk some sense, and of course he knew who _he _was, squeaking out a weak "My name…my name's Felix, Mister Lang." but what good was that? At the request of his full name he only trembled and broke down again.

Felix was quite the shrimp of a boy, with a shock of black hair and sad eyes, a leather camera case hung on a thick leather strap around his neck, he wouldn't let anyone touch it, but it was a Leica 1 camera, one that had recently been unveiled at the spring fair in Leipzig, to be able to afford such a camera…his parents must have been very wealthy. At the mention of the place he would bring his legs up to his chest and bury his face in his hands, occasionally hugging the camera close to him and wiping his eyes. Lang hadn't the time to continue to deal with the boy, and returned to his office, he heard the boy trailing behind him, trying (and very much failing) to match his footsteps so as to go unnoticed. It was none of his concern, but if he was going to distract his workers any further the...the boy needed to leave, and if he was too stubborn to tell him his name then he could be stubborn too, and he _would _find out what had led him here, and ensure he was returned to his parents.

It took well over a month to discover the truth, everyday they left him at the film studio, telling him to go home, and every morning they found him wandering around again, whether he hid about the studio, or risked life on the streets was uncertain, but Lang assumed it was the former, the rumours of the dragon being haunted only continuing to spread, he didn't encourage the rumours, but appreciated them if it meant they wouldn't approach the prop out of fear, but why should he care whether they boy was found…? It was none of his business... One day officer Hughes, still vigilantly working, trying to pretend the police force still gave a damn about the ever rising crime rate, asked if they had seen a boy by the name of Felix Lehmann-Brandt, his parents- Emmet and Camille- had been killed in a robbery a month and a half ago, they'd had a backlog on crime for a while and had only just starting looking for him. The family was on holiday in Berlin from their home in Munich, and had been seen in Leipzig for the fair, but no one had seen their son since their murder. When Lang suggested that the boy was living with relatives, Hughes said that his family had suffered a number of losses in the Great War and hadn't the time to take care of another child- the only place left for him now was the orphanage. Lang saw an opportunity, to finally be rid of the boy, and yet…he couldn't bring himself to say the one word that would ensure it, with the political upheaval…lack of funding…rising food prices…he wouldn't last a year. Against his better judgment he said he hadn't seen anyone resembling this Felix, of course the cold, demanding film director would know nothing of such a subject, and, somehow, Lang was content in letting people believe that.

After Lang had told him he knew who he was, and what had happened to his parents (he cried again that night), and promised he wouldn't send him off to the orphanage, Felix opened up a little, spouting snippets of his life at random to whoever would listen, about the camera around his neck- a birthday present- the only thing he had left from that day, when he ran from the ones who had killed his parents and found himself in the warehouse at Ufa. One night he found Felix sitting in the door of the warehouse, staring up at the sky, cheeks sparkling in the moonlight, the boy greeting him as always, wiping his eyes and insisting he was fine.

"Mother wears…_used to wear_ pale make-up…the moon reminds me of her, but that's really silly, isn't it? I'm sorry…" he only apologized more as the minutes passed, as he shakily took a picture of the full moon above them, but shook his head sadly, sniffing, saying he shouldn't have wasted a picture on such a thing, trying as hard as he could to resist crying in front of him. Eventually he gave in, bidding him goodnight and trudging back to the mechanical dragon he used as a bed, ashamed of how childish he was being.

It had been six months since then, and his new masterpiece was well under way, very much a masterpiece to be, he would make sure of that, with its budget of almost 5 million reichsmark, it was going to be his finest work to date he was sure, he would give all the writing credit to _her _this time, her philosophy had inspired the whole thing, it was only right. Despite all the joy of seeing their work flourish, the sets were beginning to take up more and more space, and so as not to waste any more of it the dragon would need to be disassembled. Where Felix was going to sleep shouldn't have been his first concern as they informed him of this, and yet for some reason it was.

"Why, he can stay at my house Mister Lang; of course he can stay, on the couch I mean but still-" Claire was a strange girl, said she was going to be a star one day, wanted to go to America, at twenty-one she certainly wasn't too old, and was certainly pretty enough- with her short black hair, but a starring role? Lang thought she made a better maid than an actress, but she was more than happy to comply, should it guarantee a movie role- however small. If the boy had nowhere else to go now then he didn't see how it could hurt him any, and he agreed, offering perhaps…a role in _Metropolis,_ perhaps a small part for her friend Gisele as well, more extras were always welcome, Claire was just…a bit too keen for her own good, but at least the boy had something of a home now, even if it should have been none of his concern…_wasn't _any of his concern…

It was strange, the boy was no one of importance to him, and yet he still cared for his well being, sometimes Thea would even ask about him, as if fearing the scandal if they were discovered, accused of kidnapping him, or perhaps she too, almost felt something for the orphan. His presence around the sets helped the actors somewhat, while Thea, Claire, Gisele and the rest helped cook and help around in other ways, he wandered around, pretending to take pictures, he treasured the almost empty film too much to 'waste' them, asking them if they liked working with 'Mister Lang', or telling people how excited 'Miss Claire' was to be in the film, even if she didn't show it sometimes. He remembered Thea's philosophy, that the heart must be the mediator between the head (the planners) and the hands (the workers), perhaps Felix was that mediator between him and his actors, however ridiculous it seemed, the little one who they could sympathize with, but never speak about outside of work. But work _was _Lang's life, so there was always time to speak of, or speak to him, once he had asked what the boy wished to do once he was old enough (he was only ten and a half by his reckoning), Felix had grinned and said he wanted to make movies like he did, but he grew quiet, bowing his head and thinking it perhaps disrespectful. Reconsidering he tapped his fingers over the case of his Leica 1, instead wishing he could be a photographer, so as to keep a camera close to him always, Felix managed to smile, and giggle, wondering if that wasn't a good enough reason, or if it was a silly ambition. Lang thought it a fine ambition, for one who had suffered through such tragedy less than a year before, such optimism in the boy was a…delightful change to say the least.

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"That's not right, move over a bit, and this time with a bit more…well just keep your hand there and then move it down a little what's so difficult about that?" Filming past midnight was an anticipated occurrence for anyone who had worked with Lang before, he was a perfectionist by nature, if it wasn't perfect you'd do it again, no matter how long it took. Claire nodded, going through the motions of his instruction before nodding and promising she'd do it right this time. Felix didn't like staying at her house by himself, and was currently sitting at the edge of a desk, his eyelids drooping, his hand attached to his mouth to prevent any yawns escaping him (it didn't work), he wasn't tired…he wasn't…

Half an hour later, the strict director found him curled up on the table, shivering as he slept; Lang wondered if he had slept the same way within the long disassembled dragon he had been discovered in almost a year and a half earlier. He still didn't know why he cared so much, but he felt…something, something like a fleeting guilt, but he hadn't…

A half whispered cry passed the boy's lips, a tear forcing its way from his eyes as he shuddered.

Lang sighed, unbuttoning his jacket, people said he was cold, and aloof and heartless, and he would let people believe that. But if he was heartless, he wondered what they'd call people who _wouldn't _do something like this. Felix smiled dopily in his sleep, snuggling up in the oversized makeshift cover. Lang let himself smile too, and returned to the set as silent as he could, so as to not disturb him.

Perhaps Claire could try her take again tomorrow instead- a table was no place for a young boy to sleep.

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End file.
